


Death and the Sunrise

by Yanara126



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Berath has feelings too, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Gen, I don't know how to tag this, In a way, In the first chapter, Liberal Use of Pronouns, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Secrets, Sibling Love, They don't like them, Wael is all over those, i guess, in the second chapter, vibe vehicle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28573569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yanara126/pseuds/Yanara126
Summary: Berath has always known their role, they are the axis on which the Wheel turns. They are stability. They are not mortal, not alive, not a being with a family. And yet, as Eothas once again goes against all they were created for, they only watch.
Relationships: Berath & Eothas, Berath & The Watcher (Pillars of Eternity), Berath & Wael
Kudos: 3
Collections: Genuary 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This exists mainly because there are a bunch of cool quotes I found, and also because I consider Berath as like the mom or big sister of the chaos pantheon family, and she does care about Eothas okay? I love them.  
> The Watcher mentioned is technically my Favaen, and Berath alludes to her past a few times (so feel free to check out my series about her if you want^^) but the first chapter is written in second person and I've avoided pronouns, so you imagine your own Watchers if you want to.  
> Have fun!

Your eyes are open, though something tells you they shouldn’t be. You look around. The world is purple. How strange, you could have sworn it was dark just a second ago. Did Berath call you again?

“I have not. Your soul is bound to this place now however, and sometimes it seeks the way back here on its own. You will not remember this once you wake.”

You blink in surprise.

“You wanted to ask.” Berath says, looking at you with the same stoic face she has always presented at your meetings. Is the deity even capable of something else? And how did she know the question that never quite formed enough to be asked?

“You are one of my creatures now, hound, as much as you were his. There is nothing of you I do not know.” At some point in your life that may have intimidated you, but at this point, what is one more ominous claim.

Perhaps it’s wishful thinking, but for a moment you think Berath’s feature softer, an odd tinge of fondness appearing and vanishing in the blink of an eye.

“Indeed. You have come far from your days spent cowering in his protection.” You blink again. Cowering seems an unfairly harsh choice of words for a childhood.

Berath remains steadfast. Her hands on her sword, towering over the tiny spectral form before her. Unfaced. Unmoved.

“For someone who knows so much, you understand very little, child.” And what should you understand? It’s not like any of them ever explain things! Except for Woedica now apparently, and you are very hesitant to believe anything that woman tells you. You doubt Woedica has ever done anything without an ulterior, self-serving motive since the day she was born.

“You know better than most that we were not born, Watcher, no matter what my brother likes to pretend. Why do you insist on referring to us like this?” Because- because they are alive too, in their own way. Aren’t they?

“We are not, Watcher. We weren’t born but created, each of us had a purpose they were crafted for.” Something remains hanging in the air. Something aside from the ever-present soulfragments flitting about as if searching for a new body already. _Had_ a purpose?

Berath’s gaze remains hard and cold, ever the world’s constancy, but it seems farther now, almost looking through you. Seeing something her own wheel had long crushed.

“Most of us have long lost that original purpose. You see what my brother has become, do you think Eora would still stand had he always been like this?” And how should you answer this? You see the destruction your god wrecks in his path every day, and each time break a little more. For all those come to harm, and for Him, for you know just how much it breaks him as well. Could it really be worth it? Could it be worth what would come after? You feel your head tilt up to the looming figure, like a child seeking affirmation from a parent. A strange way to think of Her of all the gods, but it seems appropriate.

“I have no answer for you.” How can She not? Does She not think it will work? Why does She still let Eothas go free if She doesn’t?

For the first time Berath’s stoic façade moves. The goddess of death sighs, a long sigh, deep and filled with more emotion than you have ever felt from Her. She sounds tired. But the crack in her composure is already gone the next second.

„My brother is a soft-hearted fool. And I am too for allowing him his weakness.“ You don’t understand. How could you?

“I have told you that we have lost our original purpose, my brother is not the only one for who this is true.” Berath’s gaze is almost expectant as it settles on you more deeply. You feel like a young acolyte again, being tested in school. But for once you think you might know the answer, even if you’re not entirely clear on the question. Woedica?

Berath nods and you feel a strange rush of satisfaction.

“Woedica was created as our queen, but her power and ambition posed a threat to us and kith, and so we dethroned her. She still is, still holds her title above us, but the truth is, her role has changed. She is no longer queen or judge, though she pretends to be. We have accommodated to this change, and the years have not passed us by either.” You stare up at her, more confused than before. It was more than she’s ever told you, and yet it’s far too little to truly make sense of her words. Why is she telling you this?

“Because you won’t remember regardless. You never do.” A wave of defiance floods through you. Why shouldn’t you remember? This is the one time you actually seem to get some answers, and you will make sure to write down every one of them later.

Her odd choice of words passes you by, unnoticed as defiance makes you stare upwards.

Berath is as unmoved as ever. Obviously, she doesn’t believe you. You will make sure to prove her wrong.

“What you believe is of no significance to me.” Then why tell you?

Berath looks at you. To others it might seem like any other time she’d looked at you, but you know better. She looks at you like Eothas once did, standing in an ocean looking back at you. Brows pinched just so, her shoulders a tad lower than before, and her eyes the matt black of a starless night sky, you feel a vague sense of regret settling over you.

“Because I do not wish for my brother to die.” At any other time, you might have rejoiced at the words, but now they are only infuriating. What does it mean? Why should He die? How will you knowing this help Him? Especially if, as Berath claims, you won’t remember it?

“You won’t remember, no, but perhaps, if I just tell you often enough, He will.” Something presses against you, sharp and insistent. The purple in your sight becomes darker, denser, and you feel the weight of an uncountable amount of soul pieces pulling closer, latching onto you, as they recognize your turmoil. You understand, they are confused, and you are familiar, something alive, stable. It doesn’t make bearing their attention any easier.

Berath takes one hand off her sword far above you and swipes it through the air, as if flicking away insects, and perhaps for her it is. The souls clawing at you are ripped away, scattering back into the beyond, and for a moment you stumble after them from the force of the command.

The next moment you find yourself back in the spot you stood before, without remembering any movement on your part. You glance up to Berath, confused and frightened at the reminder that this is not your realm. You have no power here. You are as much at her mercy as these souls around you.

You want to keep asking, but you feel your throat close up and no sound comes through. Vaguely you are aware that you have no throat here, but logic has no power against the fear welling up inside you. The world around becomes unfocused, her face alone takes up your sight. White, bony skin stretching across high cheek bones, eyes blacker than the void surrounding you, stringy hair just as dark hanging limply over her ears.

You feel cold. Your surroundings are too loud and too quiet at the same time. Something pulls at you. Is it her? Has she finally grown sick of you? You can’t die again! You have to know! You have to ask! You have to-

You hear quiet thumps and feel a soft swaying beneath you. A familiar queasy feeling already settles in your stomach and you swallow down a groan. Your body feels heavy and sluggish, much like you felt almost every day five years ago. Whatever you dreamt last night, it can’t have been good.

You throw your arm over your face, the coolness of your skin helping somewhat against the headache building behind your eyes. Any dream or nightmare you had is long gone from your memory, so you’re fairly certain it wasn’t another memory. Your brain always made sure you’d remember those.

With a sigh you pull yourself from the bed, putting a hand against the ship’s wall to steady yourself. There is work to be done. You only hope you’ll hit land today.

The strange feeling of urgency stays with you the whole day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me long enough! Vibes and headcanons incoming. Still not enough vibes in my opinion, but I couldn't fit more in here.

Berath remains alone in her realm. Some might have pointed out the souls flitting by as company, and Berath is aware of every one of them, but they aren’t people. Let Wael spin its tales about the meaning of their form, for Berath they are nothing more or less than clay to form.

For a moment she stares at the spot the Watcher had occupied just seconds ago, before letting the platform and her own shape dissolve again. There was no use in keeping up pretences alone. The shapes are necessary to host any conscious soul without them being overwhelmed, but still nothing more than an illusion.

Though some of her siblings seem to forget that more frequently now. They’ve grown too comfortable in their position.

Once again her awareness flits to the space that has been empty for 20 years now, abandoned in a fit of righteous anger, and never filled again. She’d thought her brother childish then. Another proof that kith were right to call him such.

She is not as certain now.

Berath returns her attention to the slowly reshaping souls. There is no point in speculating. She was not made for change. She makes sure the Eora would remain standing while her sibling squabbled. She is the axis of the wheel, and she will keep it steady.

Even if she has to push it alone. Even if she has to remain of the sole pillar of stability as her siblings forget themselves.

As she has done for the past millennia.

She is alone, like she always is. Or never. She is the door after all. He is the gateway. They are the passage.

But right now, she is detached from any such concept. The souls around her have no need to ascribe a label to her, and she herself certainly doesn’t. They are death. What she once was does not matter. As little as his past. They are one now.

Their lone contemplation is interrupted suddenly by a large eye popping up, a slit pupil down the middle, and bloodshot whites, with tiny purple wings attached where the nerves should be. The wings flutter nervously, pupil shooting around in all directions.

Berath is careful not to react, silently thinking again to their brother and wishing for a little bit of the seemingly endless hope of his. Maybe it hasn’t noticed them yet?

That hope of course vanishes immediately, like the fool’s hope it is, as loud shrieking sounds through her realm and the eye starts vibrating and rolling.

Berath bites down a sigh and manifests her favoured form again. There is no use in drawing this out, Wael will only become more bothersome if she tries to wait it out.

The eye vanishes with a plop and the shrieking is replaced by loud echoing giggles. Flecks of colour move through her perception, rapidly changing tone and form, fleeting from side to side. They slap together in different spaces, melting into each other becoming larger and larger, yet continuing their rampage around, never stopping and only becoming ever louder. Occasionally a soul is snatched by the parts, dragged around, and thrown somewhere completely different with a loud shriek.

Berath lets it happen. Feeding into its mania by reacting is a sure way to drag it out.

The chaos continues for a while longer, until Wael finally decides to stop wrecking her domain. The last colour patches flit together, forming its usual, yet always different form, a mountain of eyes stuck together. She’d never understood the appeal, but then again that was point.

“A secret! We smell a secret!” Of course it does. In truth Berath is surprised it had taken Wael this long to come and collect it.

“I assume you won’t leave until you have it, then?” The following excited shrieking causes the few brave souls who’ve attempted to return to their original path to scatter wildly once again. Berath pays them no mind, as long as Wael remains here there will be no balance, and attempting to enforce it will only lead to more chaos.

“Give us the secret! You know we always keep it!” Wael giggles, and Berath glares at it over her nose. Oh yes she does. Wael keeps every secret of their siblings, and has yet to give up one, but still she doesn’t enjoy having to trust it. Not that she has a choice in the matter. As much as their siblings have to trust in her to keep the Wheel steady, so she has to trust they do their job. A perilous endeavour, as present circumstances prove, but a necessary one. Well then.

“I am not surprised by his actions. I am not certain I will stop him.” A secret that could endanger the delicate balance of the pantheon, and yet the still the easier one.

“That’s not all. We know it.” The amalgamation of eyeballs was practically vibrating now, causing parts of to split off and stretch into another direction like goo, before snapping back into place with a squelching sound.

“I am… afraid. Of what he’ll do. And of how much I might sacrifice for him.” She shouldn’t. She is the stability, she is needed to keep Eora steady. They of all their siblings are the one that should stand against his rampage the strongest. And yet they don’t.

Berath remembers the years before his first rebellion, remembers how he grew dimmer, how his insatiable radiance grew tired and flat. A fluke is what they thought then, a moment of overindulged emotion as he was always prone to. They ignored it. Ignored how he drew back ever further, quietly suffering a weight his siblings had all long left behind.

Until the quiet and dusk exploded in a burst of shining, blaring anger.

And left behind only cold darkness.

Of course they knew he hadn’t been destroyed completely. The wheel would have groaned and cracked under the pressure of what was, is, him, and for a while they had expected it even. But time had passed, and nothing happened. And so they waited for him finish sulking. (Had hoped.)

Now he is back. Once again burning more strongly than ever. Intent on burning himself out. On burning every one of them. On burning everything until nothing was left in this world that had never been theirs, not really. And Berath is tempted to let him.

“Yes, yes! Or no?” Another squeaking sound echoes through the space, manipulated into a tone it shouldn’t have. For once Berath does not care about the silly manipulation, has other things to care about. “Another secret! But will it cost us some?”

Wael’s mass collapses inward, melting and squelching with eyes vanishing beneath each other, turning inward and rolling in different directions in confusion. Pieces break off and rejoin the whole even as it is getting smaller and smaller. And soon nothing but a single eye is left, fluttering lazily, staring at her with it’s pupil flashing in ever different colours.

And Berath is nervous.

“It is our secret now.” Once more the shrill voice rings out, tone jealous and paranoid. Berath almost sighs in relief. Instead she doesn’t let the eye out of her gaze, silent and hard. The eye plops, the realm is silent.

The flow of souls regains its direction once again, seamlessly flowing together, as if it was never interrupted. They are alone again.


End file.
